So There I Was . . . . .

Standing in Victoria's Secret, a bit vexed they didn't have the pretty lacy "lilac frost" panties to match the bra I found, and perturbed that their selection of pretty white delicates were lacking.  I have the free cotton panties in my hand, along with the white delicates I decided to settle for.

A fellow who was there with his wife and small daughter looked at me, and said, "You work at The Company, right?"

I honestly never saw this fellow before in my life.  How the hell did he know?  "Uh, yeah.  I work at The Company." 

"I knew I recognized you!  I see you all the time walking by my building!  You're always going somewhere!" 

"Yeah, I'm on my way to Coffee Bean."  I'm standing there with panties in my hand talking to some married guy I've never seen before who's apparently been spying on me at work long enough to notice that I frequent the nearby cafe.  This seems ripe for comedy.

"That's right!  You're always walking back with coffee!"

He's got me like a deer in headlights now, because I'm not walking to Coffee Bean all that much these days.  Not only that, but how can someone notice me for so long and yet not eventually say hello and introduce himself?  Preferably in the context where he's been noticing me, and not in a lingerie store?

I'm not sure whether to be slightly disturbed that this guy recognized me without my Company Badge (which, if you don't socialize with coworkers, ensures your anonymity at The Company.  At least, I have a hard time remembering names of people I rarely interact with when I don't see their badges), or to be perplexed that I was having a random conversation I did not initiate with a married man at Victoria's Secret.

At any rate, I obviously need to find a better way to get to Coffee Bean.  Or do a better job at becoming a mistress of disguise.  Or figure out how to exploit this strange ability or quirk to profit and make my millions.

Brown People vs. Black People

You know how people are either brown people or black people?  Brown or black being the predominant "accessory" color.  Brown shoes, black shoes.  Brown belt, black belt.  Brown bag, black bag.

I've always thought I was a black person.  I have more black shoes than brown, I think black eyeliner looks better on me than brown eyeliner (when I actually manage to wear the stuff).

And then of course he has to say, "I think you're more of a brown person, with your skin tone and hair color."  Then again, he's biased, because he's most obviously a brown person.

So because I'm curious, here starts the great Brown Experiment of 2010.  I'm still skeptical.

Dinner For One - Meatball Sandwich

All right here we go.  Really unhealthy today.  You can see I'm trying to offset the meatballs by throwing in the carrots and broccoli, but then I lose points by adding the side of ranch dip.

I'm pretty sure this could be a dinner for two or three, but let's be lazy and say that I'm making a meatball sandwich for dinner and I'm gonna eat meatball sandwiches for lunch all week.

Meatball Sandwiches
1 bag of Trader Joe's frozen Meatballs
1 can of tomato sauce
1 can of diced tomatoes
garlic (I used a spoonful of pureed garlic from Trader Joe's)
olive oil
basil
oregano
pepper
provolone cheese
whole wheat french rolls

OK.  Heat up a small saucepan, and pour in a little olive oil.  When it heats up put in the garlic and add the tomato sauce and diced tomatoes.  Stir in basil, oregano and pepper.  Wait for it to bubble and turn into a really good sauce.  Add the meatballs and disappear for half an hour.

Toast the french roll, add the cheese and some meatballs, and eat.  I recommend you be unhealthier than me and eat with potato chips.  :)

Race Report - Heartbreak Ridge Half Marathon

Apparently this means I'm a 27-year-old Civilian.  Military types got a "M" on their right leg.  I've never been involved in a race where they mark your legs up, so this was new to me.

The Heartbreak Ridge Half Marathon at Camp Pendleton was certainly more difficult for me than San Francisco.  It was hot, the dirt-packed trail was uneven and hilly, and my foot decided to act up on me too.  But finishing this race was certainly one of the most satisfying things I've done.

I really like being on Marine bases.  I don't know why.  It's just a nostalgic thing; I know what to expect from the experience and everyone is just there to have a good time.

There was a woman Marine who was carrying the flag that day; she was dressed in all black and on the flag were all the names of the people who died on 9/11.  I'm not particularly sentimental about 9/11, but I thought what she did was pretty cool and she's much tougher than me.  We passed each other up until just after the half-way mark, and then when we passed her up for the last time we chatted a bit.  We remarked on the super-fast man who practically finished just as we were passing the 3-mile mark, and the uneven terrain.  We were just past 9 miles when she said that they're going to send the snipers out in a couple miles.  "Let's hope they miss!"  I said.

I don't know if I'll do this race again; the shirts were pretty cool (although the fabric isn't the best technical t-shirt fabric) and it was really a nice experience to be on a base again and be around all that military spirit, but this was truly an energy-sapping race.  On the other hand, it was really cheap ($40) and it was very, very satisfying to finish.

I ran this with a friend who runs triathlons.  He is a much stronger runner than I am, even though he's been on the "cookie eating training plan".  He gave me a bunch of tips on motivation and breathing, and I was able to give him tips on running hills.  Even though he was stronger, I have a slightly better technique for charging up and down hills than he does.  So that was nice that we could share knowledge like that with each other.  Even though I kept pestering him to run on ahead of me, he insisted we stay together and cross the finish line together.  It was really nice of him and his encouragement certainly helped me finish faster than I otherwise would have.

I Feel Like I Must Be A Racist. . . .

Because I think the "good" dancer must be a black man. . . . and the "bad" dancer is a white engineer.

Psychologists Identify Killer Dance Moves For Men